There is something elemental about digging a hole. I don’t know what it is. But I derive an unexpected satisfaction from it whenever I have to do it. Building things above the ground is obviously great. Everyone can see it. It can be seen from a distance and appreciated without having to leave your chair. But a hole is quite different. You have to go to it and peer in to even know it’s there. And revisiting always bears fruit. Dead things or trapped things could be at the bottom of it. Water could have filled it, from above or below. Strangers could have come along and filled it, fearing their small children might fall into it and never be heard from again. It is the symbol of work, of hopelessness, of death and defeat. Modern humans avoid having to dig a hole by hand the way they avoid walking long distances or sleeping by the roadside. Sad, tragic even, for the joys of digging a hole are legion.